The Morrow Days vs the World
by Dragonlord Stephi
Summary: Shorts about the Morrow Days in the Secondary Realms, up against things we mortals take for granted... and failing at it.
1. Anime Stores

**The Morrow Days vs. an Anime Store**

_A short about the Morrow Days against one thing we take for granted… and losing._

**The Morrow Days vs. Anime Stores**

The shock, the horror, and utter disbelief at the situation as a whole gripped Wednesday, shaking her to her core. How could this happen? What shame! What woe!

She and Friday had accidentally wandered into the yaoi section of the anime store.

"We need to get out of here," Wednesday declared, staring at the floor rather than the pictures posted on the walls or the shonen-ai doujinshi covers.

"Why?" Friday absentmindedly flipped through a random comic, and gave a strange exhale that sounded somewhat between pleasure and absolute disgust. "Who reads this sort of crap?"

"Friday, we can't stay."

"Why not?"

"Because it's yaoi."

"So?" Friday picked up another comic and scanned it, then made a face. "I could write better dialogue while asleep."

"Friday, please. Think of what'll happen if any of the other Days find us here! They'll never let it go!"

"What?" She shrugged. "Big deal."

"Friday! I have a reputation to maintain!"

"You spent several thousand years as a whale. I don't think you HAVE a reputation anymore," Friday replied.

"Where'd Tuesday, Thursday, and Monday get to?" Saturday asked, and cursed. "Leaving me alone with Sunday…"

"Excuse me, princess." Sunday rolled his eyes. "Just get your stupid DVD so we can get out of here. I don't like to linger in the Secondary Realms any longer than necessary."

"Fine." Saturday browsed the large rack of DVD's, increasingly frustrated. "Why isn't Karneval vol. 1 here yet? It should have come out today! House records say so!"

"Maybe you recorded the date wrong?" Sunday asked, smoothing his collar as he noticed a rather gorgeous mortal woman walk on by.

"I never record wrong. I haven't made a mistake since the dawn of time. If anyone screwed up, it would've been Monday's stupid butler setting the Seven Dials. We're probably here a day early."

"Oh well."

"Fullmetal Alchemist is on sale," Saturday noted. "How much money do we have to spend?"

"Infinite."

"Great. I'm grabbing it." She reached out just as a high voice cried out, "What a cool cosplay!"

"What?" Saturday turned. A little boy who came up onto her knee was beaming up at her.

"I said, cool cosplay! Your blue wig looks so realistic! And how'd you get to be so tall? What anime are you from?"

"Cosplay?" Sunday burst into laughter. A huge mistake, as the boy's attention was turned to him.

"Your hair's green! You cosplay too! Are you two married?"

This statement caused Saturday to blush in shame and immediately barrage the boy with statements all basically meaning, 'How dare you accuse me of marrying such scum!' Sunday laughed again, so loudly that several patrons turned to look at him, annoyance plastered on their faces.

"Definitely married," the boy concluded. "See you!" He dashed off as Saturday reached forward to strangle him, but then smiled innocently and straightened when she saw that the cashier was eyeing her suspiciously.

"I don't get anime!" Tuesday complained. "So he was an adult, but now he's a kid…"

"And in this one, he was a boy, but now he's a girl!" Thursday pointed out. "What goes in these peoples' heads?"

"Excuse me," growled a store manager, the five other Days behind him. "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave. The rest of your party has caused quite a disturbance. As such, all of you must exit the premises. I would most appreciate it if you didn't return."

"He didn't even let me buy the DVD," Saturday complained as they exited.

"I'll copy it for you," Tuesday dismissed.

"You would? Thanks."

"You'd lead Tuesday to pirating?" Friday accused.

"I'M the pirate here!" Wednesday declared.

Saturday scowled. "It doesn't matter who the pirate is, the point being, I got thrown out because I was 'being threatening to younger patrons.'"

"You almost strangled a little boy!" Sunday pointed out. "They called the cops on us!"

"Whatever." Saturday nearly slammed open the Front Door of the House, startling the Lieutenant Keeper beyond belief.

"Is something wro-"

"Stick a sock in it."

Alone in her private chambers, Saturday wrote furiously, then smiled once she saw the finished work. "That ought to teach him a lesson," she smirked.

The next morning, a beautiful Saturday, the anime con store announced that it was closed due to unforeseen financial difficulties.

Not to mention, every single product they had was replaced with DVDs of Karneval, vol. 1 and copies of Fullmetal Alchemist.


	2. Libraries

_**The Morrow Days vs. Libraries**_

"Saturday! Saturday!"

"What?" she slammed the book shut and glared at Monday. "Is something the matter?"

"We're in a library," he whimpered.

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Where're the others?"

"How should I know?" She turned back to her book, attempted to read it, and then sighed and turned back to Monday, who was still standing there. "What is it now?"

"We're in a library," he repeated.

"All right, and what's wrong with that?"

"There's lots of type here. Lots. What if the Will-"

"The Will has somehow been fulfilled, we were resurrected for who knows what reason (I sure hope not for some ridiculous fan fiction), and it's no longer an issue," Saturday retorted. "Now go read a picture book or something else tailored for your imbecile mind. Or even take a nap somewhere. I don't care."

The hurt, offended, and growingly tired Monday retreated and found Sunday in the gardening section of the library. "Aren't you worried about the Will?" he asked.

"No, not really," Sunday shrugged. "Do you think hibiscuses or irises would complement my roses better?"

"Uh, I don't know. Japanese maples?"

"Oh, Monday, you ARE a genius! Japanese maples to stand in my arboretum of roses, perfect brown sentinels…" Sunday smiled. "Now, I shall embark on a quest to find the perfect book detailing the care of Japanese maples."

"But I thought you already knew how to take care of Japanese maples."

"If I'm stuck in a library, I might as well read something I enjoy," Sunday replied.

"What're you reading there, Friday?" Wednesday asked.

"Oh, just this version of _Twilight _that's way racier. It's called _Fifty Shades of Grey._"

Wednesday gasped and grabbed the book out of Friday's hands. "You can't read that!"

Friday frowned, hands on hips. "And why NOT, pray tell?"

"It's inappropriate."

"Wednesday, with that goody-two-shoes attitude, you won't get anywhere in life. You have to let go, enjoy yourself a little. Otherwise you'll end up all sourpuss and stuck-up like Saturday, and even she knows when to have fun every now and then."

"But- but-"

"There you are!" Monday came to the rescue. "Wednesday, do you think the Will is here?"

"No," Wednesday and Friday both said at the same time. They turned and glared at each other. "Jinx!" More glaring. "Double jinx! Triple jinx! JINX FOR ALL ETERNITY!" Still speaking at the same time, their glares escalated to outright venomous attacks. If looks could kill…

"Guys-"

"WHAT?"

Monday threw his hands up in the air and groaned. "I give up. The Will have you both!"

Monday wasn't at all surprised when, at checkout, he saw Tuesday holding a pile of books with titles similar to _Your Guide to the Stock Market _and _Get Rich Quick for Dummies. _Rather, he was a bit caught off guard to see Thursday's stack: _Self-Help: Anger is No Joke, Keys to Anger Management: Locking Your Anger Away, The Layman's Guide to Walking Past Wrath, _and _Anger Management for Dummies. _"What's up with those?" Monday asked, and pointed.

Thursday grinned, embarrassed. "Oh, well… remember that incident where I got really mad at Marshall Dawn and hit her? She suggested I get some help. I got mad at the idea, so I hit her again, and now I'm thinking… she's right." He blushed. "She usually is."

"You got a crush or something?" Monday said, stifling a yawn.

"No, not like that! It's more of a… brotherly affection. Sure. Let's say that. Brotherly affection."

Saturday came up behind them and flourished her library card. "Start scanning, folks!"

"Aren't you checking out any books?" Monday inquired; she wasn't carrying any.

"Nope!" Saturday said. "The Lower House has a library of every book ever written. Rather than let you all see my insecurities spelled out in my book selection, I have taken the liberty of checking them out there."

"So why didn't the rest of us go there?" Friday asked, placing her books on the scanner.

"Because Monday asked me not to," Sunday answered, removing her copy of _Fifty Shades of Grey. _"You can't read this, Friday."

"Why not?"

"Because I am your superior, and I want your mind clear of such vulgar notions," Sunday replied. "Tell her, Saturday."

"Don't read it and save us a bunch of trouble," Saturday shrugged.

"Fine," Friday snorted, and placed it to the side. "Be that way."

Monday smiled. "Ah, we're all getting along much better than usually."

"We are," Sunday admitted. "No one's tried to kill someone else yet. I wonder why."

"Are you complaining?" Wednesday said, placing her sole book, _Moby Dick, _onto the scanner.

"Not at all," Sunday retreated. "I quite like it."

As they prepared to exit the library, Monday grinned. "No Will!"

"We TOLD you," groaned the other six in exasperation.

At that moment, a young girl ran past with her little brother, screaming, "WAIT UP, WILL!"

Monday gave a cry that sounded similar to, "It's found me!" and then passed out.

Or maybe he just fell asleep.

**A/N: Not the best ending. I apologize. One of these days I'll figure out how to end short stories properly. Until then, though… **


	3. Pet Therapy

**Pet Therapy**

"Oh, Sir Thursday!"

"Hmm?" Thursday looked up from his book. "Yes, Marshal Dawn?"

"I didn't expect to see you in the Citadel's reading room. Usually you're heading a campaign in the Great Maze or paying a visit to other parts of the House."

"Mm, no," Thursday said. "Say, Dawn, you are in charge of Piper's Children in the Maze, right?"

"To a degree, and among other things, yes."

"So I suppose you know more about near-mortals than anyone else in the Maze."

"Er, not really, but if you need anything…"

"I got this book from a mortal library, and the author speaks of some strange connection between themselves and an animal companion. Do you understand this?"

"Um, no."

"And there's something about attractions between beings of opposite gender." He looked her in the eye. Dawn seemed pink-cheeked at the mention of it, but she usually had that tint anyway, her visage somehow always reminding one of the early morning sky. Thursday studied her, wondering why he wanted to see any reaction, why his immortal heart was suddenly beating irregularly. Was it what Monday had called it earlier? A… crush?

_Don't be ridiculous, _he chided himself.

"Was there something else?"

Thursday shook his head. "No. Thanks. Dismissed."

Sunday burst into Thursday's office, the fury in his face coloring it a deep red that matched his green hair, lending him the look of a ten-foot-tall walking Christmas ornament. He threw a paper at Thursday, which hit the purple-haired and purple-eyed Morrow Day in the face, and shouted, "WHAT IN THE HOUSE AND ALL THE SECONDARY REALMS IS THIS SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

"Every Denizen has a draft," Thursday replied calmly. "I am aware you are in need of the Reaper, but he too needs to serve his century in the House army. No doubt he will earn your demesne a great amount of honor and glory."

"I cannot afford to lose the Reaper for an entire century!"

"Yes, you can." Again, Thursday was very calm. Sunday narrowed his eyes. TOO calm was the word. Usually, by this point, both of them were yelling themselves hoarse until Dawn, Noon, or Dusk came in to act as mitigators and make sure they didn't kill each other. "What," he asked, pointing to something he just noticed, "is that?"

"That is my therapy goldfish. I acquired him via Tuesday's black market that you should technically care about but don't really. He's from Earth. He's to help me control my anger. I watch him swim and let my anger flow out with each swish of his fins… it's quite relaxing. I got the idea from one of those books I checked out at the library. Dawn, Noon, and Dusk have been very supportive."

"Naturally. No one likes an angry immortal being that could easily break all their bones as if they were twigs," Sunday replied. "By the way, is Dawn out of the hospital yet?"

"Yes, she's made a full recovery. You have no idea how many apologies I had to make."

"I can imagine," Sunday grinned, amused. Then his smile turned into a scowl. "But you can't keep an animal from the Secondary Realms. That goldfish will have to go."

"But my goldfish helps," Thursday protested.

"Get a punching bag," Sunday retorted.

"But my goldfish helps," Thursday repeated, weakly.

"Ugh!" groaned Sunday. "Tell him, Satur-" He stopped, realizing she wasn't there, and snarled, "GET RID OF IT!"

"NO!"

An angry response.

Sunday smirked. "There's the angry Thursday who won 100,000,000 House campaigns. I'll take this." He scooped up the bowl, exiting, adding, "Change the draft to Wednesday's Dawn, would you?"

Thursday scowled as the door slammed shut. "But I don't want to be angry Thursday. I don't like him."

Wednesday' Dawn was not pleased.

"How is the Border Sea supposed to be maintained if Mistress is in her… unfortunate state… and I am gone?"

"I'm sure you're quite busy doing the jobs of four Denizens," Thursday purred, ominously stroking a cat, "but I'm also sure the Border Sea going crazy won't harm the House."

"What?" Dawn stopped looking at the unnerving cat, slightly caught off guard, and replied, "Oh, I'm absolutely certain the Maze will be just fine, but what about the Secondary Realms? Perhaps even Tuesday's Far Reaches will flood, and then… who's to say?"

"Then he can convert his mine into a giant dam. Or a swimming pool. Or a deep-diving spot. Heck, even a stinking fishing hole!"

Dawn shook her head. Like Marshal Dawn, she too was always pink-cheeked, but now she was also red-faced with anger. _Red sky in morning, sailor take warning, _flashed into Thursday's mind. "You're acting like them," Dawn spat, "CALM, sure, but as if only your realm matters, only your own life and your Denizens'. Everyone else is trash."

"Um, who's 'them'?"

"Saturday and Sunday."

"I think they don't even care about their own Denizens," Thursday joked.

Wednesday's Dawn snorted. She didn't think it was funny.

Thursday suddenly noticed his Dawn, the best Dawn in the entire House as far as he was concerned, watching from the doorway and shaking her head in disapproval. At him. "I'm not like them at all," he said, far too quickly, "and you're right, I should care, so I'll change the draft."

Wednesday's Dawn smiled, but then eyed the cat he was still stroking. "What's with that?"

"I am trying pet therapy. Stroking it is supposed to calm me, so I can manage my anger better."

"Er…" Wednesday's Dawn drew closer to it, lifted its paw, and poked it. "Umm… well, I don't know much about creatures from the Secondary Realms, especially ones from land, but… I think it's dead."

"AAAGH!" Thursday leapt out of his chair and threw it as far as he could. It slammed against the wall, meowed, and then died, its neck snapped from the impact.

"Oh, whoops," Wednesday's Dawn said, chuckling in a panicked way. "I guess it was just asleep. Well..." She started edging towards the door. "Yeah, um, bye!" She dashed out before he could change his mind about the draft.

"Please explain why you have taken Yan AND Tan," Tuesday said coldly.

"They only count as 0.428 of a Denizen each. If you take seven and divide it by three, that's the number you get. I do not accept 0.428 of a Denizen in my draft. Therefore, I took two. I SHOULD have taken Tethera too, but I'm nice."

"I need them. Change the draft!"

"No."

Tuesday scowled, turned, and tripped. He screamed as a ginormous python wrapped around him, hissing and baring fangs as long as his arm. "Is this the basilisk you bought?" he cried.

"Yep. Isn't he the cutest?" Thursday grinned. Dawn, no longer even trying to hide her eavesdropping, laughed .Thursday liked that laugh, like bells…

_Stop it!_ He thought venomously. _Stop stop stop it!_

"I'll change it if you give me a refund for him," Thursday chuckled. Tuesday, a greedy cheapskate, would probably refuse.

"Promise to GET RID of him too!"

"Promise."

"All right!"

The python uncurled and hissed softly. Tuesday jumped to his feet and dashed out, yelling. Perhaps he was crying too, though Thursday was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Dawn?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Wrap the python and send it to Friday. I DID forget to buy her a birthday present."

"You honestly can't expect ME to serve!" Saturday snarled. "Honestly! Me? I already served my century! Heck, I was among the first recruits in your first Great Campaign! Don't tell me you're getting senile and forgot!"

"Oh, you're right. Sorry."

Saturday, taken aback, stared at him. "Sorry?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You're not going to yell that you're right, what would I know, I'm degrading your honor, Sir-Thursday-angry-Sir-Thurday-smash?"

"I am not the Hulk," Thursday frowned. "You're right. I'm wrong. I'll transfer it to Pravuil."

"Go ahead. I won't need him for a couple centuries anywhere, where I will somehow inconspicuously transfer him to be a Coal Collator for no apparent reason but will turn out to be immensely useful for something to do with the Rightful Heir."

"Uh, okay."

"Oh, and that reminds me, Sunday told me to handle your 'pet emporium.' What does he mean by that?"

"I have no idea."

"Then I'll be leaving."

"Bye bye now!"

Saturday waved and was nearly out the door when a giant tarantula fell on her head.

Now, it is a well-known fact that Saturday has a rather bad case of arachnophobia.

"Oh my Architect!" She screamed, so loudly Thursday winced, and pulled the Sixth Key out, hastily writing _KILL THE SPIDER KILL KILL KILL KILL _in the air without her usual neatness. The tarantula wailed, thrashed about, and then fell still, but the Morrow Day wasn't done with it yet. Saturday yanked it off her head, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it, not stopping until it was a messy, pulpy pile of spider guts.

She wiped her shoes on Thursday's pricey rug, a gift of the Architect for his 100,000th Campaign Win several milleniums ago. Once she was certain her expensive designer star-shine boots were cleaned, she snorted and glared at Thursday.

"I'm sending you the cleaning bill," he called as she stormed out.

"I'm not paying it!" she called back.

Dawn looked at Thursday and snickered. They both burst out laughing. "Maybe pet therapy was not the best idea."

"No, I think they all loved my animals," Thursday replied, still laughing, "but just in case, tell Tuesday to send King Kong Junior to Monday."


	4. Mental Institutions

**Mental Institution**

**A/N: This particular story (as well as 'Pet Therapy') takes place during the story, probably before Arthur gained Monday's Key, unlike 'Anime Stores' and 'Library,' which took place after.**

**Also, this one is a little longer than the rest, and ends on a more 'musing' tone. It always seemed to me like Friday's search for experiences was driven by a desire to feel something not in the middle- an extreme, if you will, and I played on this quite a bit.**

"Order! Order in the Court of Days!" bellowed Sir Thursday.

Sunday grinned. Ah, the power of subordinates. It was so much better than wielding a clunky gavel.

Saturday stood to, as she always did, start off the meeting. Technically, Sunday was supposed to start the meeting, but he had long since transferred the duty to the lower Day, mainly because he felt he was too good to speak first. 'First is the worst,' he always said, something he often quoted when Saturday complained about her seniority.

He couldn't imagine why she didn't like him.

"Welcome to the mandatory 10, 245, 781st centennial meeting of the Court of Days," she began. Like nearly everyone else, but perhaps Monday, who was just asleep, she looked like she wanted to be anywhere _but_ there. "Now, this agenda is sort of long, so let's get on top of things so we're not stuck here another century. First off, we need to address interference in the Secondary Realms."

Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday eyed her. Wednesday's Dawn, filling in for her mistress, sighed. Saturday continued, "Now, in the 6, 543, 213th meeting, in which there was the dispute about the Captain Keeper's whereabouts-"

"You killed him," Tuesday interrupted. "Would you mind admitting it already? It's been several million years. No one's going to get too mad at you for it; we just need a new Captain Keeper."

Saturday stiffened. "I did NOT kill him. He's just missing. Therefore, we do not need a new Captain Keeper. Anyway, as I was saying, in that meeting, we agreed that there's nothing wrong with a little interference."

"YOU said that to justify your meddling after you killed the Captain Keeper," Thursday yawned.

"And YOU took my side," Saturday retorted. "As I was saying… again… There is nothing wrong with interference. In fact, it is quite important to a Denizen's health. Studies show stress in the average Time or Morrow Day is reduced after messing with inferior beings, according to a paper published by Upper House sorcerer-"

"You published that paper and put someone else's name on it, and don't bother hiding it. Just get on with it!" Tuesday growled. "I thought _you_ were the one who didn't want to be here a century!"

"Yes, yes, of course," Saturday sniffed, "but for that, I'm fining you for insolence to a higher Day. Pay me whenever you like by the next tax day."

"You can't do that!" he raged. Then, to Thursday, he whispered, "Can she do that?"

"Sorry to tell you, but she can, as of the-"

"5,000,634th meeting," Saturday crowed, victorious.

"I WILL appeal," Tuesday vowed.

"A pointless endeavor," Saturday shrugged.

"Indeed," added Sunday, who always thought the 'spicier' discussions of meetings were the only thing that made them somewhat tolerable. "Seeing as all appeals go through to the Upper House and eventually find their way to Saturday for final approval… you'd do better to just bite the bullet and not waste your time. After all," he grinned, "time is money."

Tuesday pursed his lips.

"AS I WAS SAYING," Saturday nearly yelled, "A little interference in the Realms is perfectly acceptable."

They nodded in agreement, Monday finally having awoken, except for Tuesday, who snorted, and Wednesday's Dawn, who looked ready to disagree but knew enough to keep her mouth shut.

"However," Saturday continued, "for the Architect's sake, _MAKE IT LESS OBVIOUS. _Honestly! All of Atlantis disappearing! The lost island of Thule is now rotating somewhere around Betelgeuse! As for you, Tuesday… crashing their stock market and starting an economic depression? What in all the House was the point of that?"

"If you have a problem with it, fine me, O Glorious Superior," he murmured.

"All right, I will- and I also choose to hear you words and not your tone. Just to remind you, by the next tax day, you owe me an Insolence fine and a Blatantly Obvious Interference fine, which I motion to make an actual fine as of right now."

"I second that motion," Sunday smirked.

"All in favor, say aye."

Everyone but Tuesday and Wednesday's Dawn said, "Aye."

"That settles that. Now, Lord Sunday's little… escapade, shall we say… with Thule has been overlooked."

Sunday leaned back with a smug look on his face.

"Friday has been sent retribution for sinking Atlantis and possibly destroying Shamballa; however, we're not sure if she really did the second, so I was a bit lax," Saturday said. "Speaking of Friday… where is she? This is a mandatory meeting, after all. Skipping out can and will be reprimanded."

"About that," Monday yawned. "It slipped my mind, really. She told me she was going out."

"Going out where?" Wednesday's Dawn inquired. "Hopefully not the Border Sea. We've made it quite clear that Denizens who cannot swim are not tolerated in the demesne. We have more pressing matters than simply rescuing a Day from drowning- not that we wouldn't, if it were the case," she hastily added, noting Sunday's glare and remembering that he also couldn't swim.

"I'm sure she remembers that little incident vividly," Thursday said.

"She said she was going out of the House," Monday clarified.

"As in the Realms?"

"Yes."

Saturday sighed. "Oh, dear."

Friday wasn't exactly sure how she got here. One minute she was breezing past the Lieutenant Keeper of the Front Door, the next she was trying to force a dog's experiences through a vanity mirror despite having left the Fifth Key in her bedroom, and now she was walking behind a white-clad woman in a strange, cream-yellow hallway. Doors opened into rooms full of strange mortals, all babbling and rocking forward, some screaming.

"So, what's your name, sweetie?" the woman asked.

"I'm Lady Friday."

"A pleasure to meet you, Friday." She didn't even blink at the name, which was strange, because Friday was certain it would at least sound eccentric to mortals.

No… wait… she wasn't sure. Oh well.

"Where're you from, dear?" the woman continued.

"Oh, the Middle House. I spend a lot of time in Friday's Emporium," she replied.

"Of course you do."

They continued walking until a sallow, tall man burst out of his room. "Princess!"

The woman stopped. "This is Royal. Don't mind him. He just thinks everyone is a prince or princess."

"I can't find the queen!" Royal moaned. "Oh, the queen… my precious queen, who came into my dreams holding a mirror of crystal… I've lost you!" He garbled some gibberish and then eyed Friday. "Oh my… Your Majesty! You have returned!"

"I have?"

Royal bowed low. "I am forever at your service, as I pledged to you in my nighttime expeditions. Oh, your lovely visage has not been tarnished by the years!"

"Umm…" Friday stared at him. He was probably some mortal she sucked the experiences out of years ago, because she had no other idea how he could possibly recognize her. Unless he was just plain crazy, which seemed plausible. "I don't really need any mortals in my service. Sorry, but you're not much help without wings, but I think Thursday could do with a couple of foot soldiers."

"Would that make you happy, me becoming a soldier?"

"Uh, I guess."

Royal stood, beaming just at the thought.

"Moving on!" the woman declared, and prodded Friday forward. "You can talk more to Royal later."

"Goodbye, Your Majesty!" Royal called. "I shall see you in my dreams!"

They had scarcely left him behind when another woman rushed out. "Nurse! Nurse! My breakfast has no apples in it! You PROMISED apples!"

Friday looked to the woman, wondering why she hadn't realized earlier she was a nurse.

"That's Granny Smith," the nurse introduced.

"No apples!" Granny Smith repeated. "Not one! I want my apples! My stepdaughter Snow is coming over today, you know. She never eats any apples neither! Don't know why, can't imagine why. The dear thing's paler than the moon, and could do with a little color from them apples!"

"Yes, yes," the nurse smiled, agreed, and nodded.

"You're a sour apple," the old woman snapped. She turned to Friday. "You're an apple too, but the good kind. A Pink Lady." Granny Smith smiled and hobbled away.

"You know," Friday said as they began walking again, "I'm starting to think this is a nut house."

"No, dear, it's a… hotel… for the privileged. Why would you think it's a nut house?"

"Well, you don't usually have nurses at hotels, and this is either a nut house or one of the very few pubs that still sells Upper House vodka once it was discovered just how intoxicating it really is. Poor Wednesday… Saturday was a bit mean in her early days. Still is, I suppose, though Wednesday didn't know drinking so many glasses could addle your wits that much…"

"Moving on…" The nurse pointed to a room. "That one's yours."

"All right, but I shan't be staying in this hotel long," Friday informed her. "I have a meeting to attend to- the Court of Days. Sunday will make Saturday skewer me for being late, and Saturday will make Thursday do it, and Thursday will enjoy doing it, which makes it worse…"

"You'll get to it, don't worry," the nurse promised.

"That's fine, then." Friday surveyed the room. It was the same sickly cream-yellow color as the hallway wallpaper. It had little decoration but for a sole mirror, and no furniture but a writing desk. The bed, set in a corner, looked neither soft nor rock-solid. It was the middle kind.

Friday hated things that were in the middle. She'd rather have an extreme.

"You have nice hair," the nurse complimented. "It's very vibrant and long."

"What? Oh, thank you."

"May I stroke it?"

Friday resisted the urge to shudder at the thought of a mortal touching her far better, superior form, even if it was just her hair. The nurse was already seeming to reach out for it. "No!" Friday barked, running into the room and slammed the door shut, leaning against it until she was certain the nurse was absolutely, positively gone.

"She could be anywhere!" Sunday screamed.

"Oh, shut it, Mr. I-Thought-Thule-Would-Look-Nice-Orbiting-A-Distant -Star!" Thursday snapped. Never one to easily control his temper unless his Dawn was around (and even then it was dicey), he was clearly starting to get into one of his moods.

"This is worse than Thule orbiting Betelgeuse," Monday stated placidly, and delicately yawned. "We need to retriever her quickly."

"Naturally. I should have sent Pravuil, but I sent him to the Coal Cellar," Saturday complained. "Because of some reason I can't even remember, I have to be doing this myself, instead of relaxing and enjoying a nice cup of Upper House-"

"Vodka?" Sunday teased.

"No! Upper House tea," Saturday retorted. "After the incident with Wednesday, I've quite drinking. It was quite easy, actually; only took me a couple of days. I wonder why the mortals suffer from addiction so much?"

"How're we going to find her?" Wednesday's Dawn asked.

"Denizens don't exactly blend in," Tuesday said. "They have a detectable presence. All it takes is a little sorcery to locate either her Key or Friday herself, and boom! We've got a go."

"You're lucky to have an experienced sorcerer such as myself," Saturday bragged. "We'll have her within the hour."

"Oh, are we lucky," Tuesday agreed, and flashed a smile, though it did seem rather forced.

"Why, thank you! You're still paying that Insolence fine."

"Drat!"

Friday had fallen asleep. She'd dreamt she was smashing mirrors to avoid her reflection, but as the mirrors' glass fragmented, her image multiplied, rageful visage solemnly by the shattered, suicidal glass. Contorted by fury, she stomped on them and crushed them, but still her reflection looked back up at her.

She awoke in the dark cream-colored room with moonlight pouring in, hugging the sheets and staring at her reflection in the mirror across the bed. For a second, she contemplated getting out and smashing that one too, but a sort of fear she didn't understand kept her glued to her bed. "I have to get out of here," she told the Friday in the mirror. "I need experience, so I can understand fear. Why I fear you. Why I fear myself."

"Good luck with that," said the reflection. Or perhaps Friday herself said that. She didn't know. Was thinking that the reflection said it enough to make it so that it happened? Was it the thought that counted?

"I need experience to find out. I'm so dreadfully ignorant of experience," Friday said in disgust. She stood and opened the door, starting to walk down the ghastly-wallpapered hallway. She was aware of being barefoot, and her favorite hat, which she was certain she'd been wearing just before falling asleep, was gone. She suddenly missed it. She liked that hat, despite the other Days telling her it looked ridiculous.

"But they're not very nice anyway," she thought aloud.

Friday stared at the floor because, for some reason, the cream-yellow coloring disgusted her. She was immensely glad that the middle House wasn't cream-colored, or she'd vomit. Friday traversed about three hallways staring at her feet as she walked when she noticed someone was following her. She stopped on a dime and turned. "I see you," she called. "Come on out!"

A thin, gaunt man with stringy black hair and large, sunken eyes stepped out from the shadows.

"What do you want?" Friday commanded, some of her power as a Denizen shining through her voice.

"I need your help." His tone was furtive and pleading, like a whining child.

"Why?"

"I need to bust out. They're after me."

"Who?"

"THE INVADERS!"

"Thursday's newest regiment? Not last I checked."

The man took a double-take. "What? No, you fool! The aliens!"

"Sunday's failed attempt to create life?"

"What? Who? NO! Aliens, as in life forms not from earth. You know, from-"

A tenant turned on the lights. "Friday! And you! What're you doing?" She frowned. "I know you. You're Doctor Friday, aren't you?"

"Uh…"

"Who worked ONLY ON FRIDAYS?"

"Perhaps." Friday shrugged. "I still do, every now and then. It's a hobby."

"YOU COST ME MY SANITY!" she wailed. "They told me that there is no Doctor Friday, there never was a Doctor Friday, and they shut me in here. But I remember you! YOU NEVER EXISTED!" She took a step forward, fists clenched and looking intent on murder.

"Crap," said the man with sunken eyes.

"Doesn't she have the Key?" Wednesday's Dawn asked. "She can just transport herself back."

"No, she left it in her bedroom," Saturday sighed. "I've located her, and someone's going to have to get to her the manual way. The question is, whose turn is it to pose as a mortal?"

"NOSE GOES!" shouted Wednesday's Dawn, Thursday, Sunday, and Tuesday.

"Nose goes," Saturday added. "

"What?" Monday awoke from his standing sleep with a start.

"Sorry, Monday, but you're going to be retrieving your most esteemed mistress," Thursday chuckled.

"I am? But I just woke up!"

"So sorry," Saturday shrugged. "I believe she's there." She pointed to a low, fenced building. "There's a sorcerous presence."

"Are you serious?" Monday whined.

Now, Friday was not the strongest Denizen. That title went to Thursday. Nor was she the best brawler or dueler, which Tuesday and Thursday hotly debated about. She was nowhere near the most powerful, as Sunday would remind anyone who was nearby at any time how much he made them seem insignificant next to his greatness. She wasn't the smartest, because if she was, she'd be in the Upper House and bossing Saturday, not the other way round. She was neither the dumbest. She was in the middle, at neither end of the extreme.

However, she was _a _Denizen, and that alone made it fairly simple to easily subdue the tenant without any difficulty on her part.

"That was amazing!" the man with sunken eyes exclaimed.

"It was normal," Friday shrugged.

"So you _can_ help me!" he grinned.

"With the aliens? Sure. Where're they from?"

"They're invaders from-"

"FRIDAY!" Monday came tearing down the hallway with considerable speed for someone afflicted with sloth. "WE'VE GOTTA-" He skidded to a stop. "Who's that?"

"Some guy."

The man waved.

"Listen, Friday," Monday said, already beginning to show signs of tiredness, "we need to leave right away."

"I promised I'd help him with the aliens."

"What aliens?" Monday turned. "Sunday's failed attempt at creating life?"

"Why do you keep bringing up this 'Sunday' person?" the man moaned. "No, beings not from Earth, from the planet-"

Bright green light suddenly flashed all over, nearly blinding and accompanied with an eerie esoteric noise.

"ZZZIIIIIMMMM! THEY'VE FOUND ME!" the man dashed away. "SAVE YOURSELF WHILE YOU CAN, PRETTY LADY!"

"Oh, I'm pretty!" Friday grinned.

Monday grabbed her hand. "And also leaving." He pulled out his Key and dragged her after him as he began sprinting, vitality surging through his limbs yet again. Perhaps the Key had something to do with it.

The gate, tall and imposing, was lying before them, no doubt locked, as evidenced by the ginormous padlock resting on it. Monday pointed the Key at it and barked several words, which Friday thought were probably 'Unlock,' 'Open,' or 'Decimate.' It most likely wasn't the third, since the gate simply creaked open and wasn't blasted to a million pieces.

They easily found the other five and passed through the Front Door, as Friday mused to herself what the tenants had told her. "Your Majesty," Royal had said. A queen. Powerful. Power was not in the middle; you either had power, or you didn't. That was an extreme. "A good apple," Granny Smith had called her. "A Pink Lady." Was good in the middle, or was it an extreme? She didn't know. "Pretty lady," the man with sunken eyes had called her. Beautiful, pretty; was it the same thing, or was one an extreme?

She recalled the light that had washed over them. She hadn't seen what cast it, but surely the man had. It was surely bad. Bad was an extreme.

Friday realized she was sick of living in the middle. From now on, not only would she experience, she would do that so that she could find herself the extreme. Whether it was good or bad, righteous or absolutely sinful, she didn't care.

She just couldn't tolerate this suspended life in the middle any longer.


	5. Gardening Competitions

**Lord Sunday and Gardening Competitions**

**A/N: This one is more of them 'importing' something from the Realms into the House rather than doing it in the Realms, much like 'Pet Therapy.' By now, I've also given up trying to write these in chronological order. This one takes place sometime before Arthur but after the breaking of the Will. If you have any prompts, feel free to send them via PM or review! I'm willing to put the Morrow Days up against almost anything.**

** Also, since I'm juggling an original novel, three fanfics, and schoolwork, updates may be sporadic, but I promise it shan't be too long between them!**

**I'm still trying to figure out how line breaks work, and I apologize if it didn't quite work out.**

**What a lengthy A/N... sorry. Now for the story.**

* * *

"And the winner is… Sonny Lorde!"

"Yawn," Sunday sighed, imitating Monday's delicate yawning motion. "I always win this sort of thing."

"Then can we stop coming?" Thursday groaned. "Every time you want to enter a mortal contest, you drag us along!"

"We really don't appreciate all this gardening competition stuff," Tuesday added.

"Gardening is the spirit of sophistication," Sunday replied indignantly. "All the civilized areas of the Realms, every culture, has gardened and IS gardening. I'm sure my deputy, who is so devoted to the records, can tell you all about it."

"Hmm?" Saturday looked up from staring at her shoes, pretending she was deeply interested in them. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Tell them that gardening is a sign of civilization and sophistication," Sunday repeated.

"Shut up and stop complaining," she ordered them.

"Y'know, I think that the problem is that mortals are just too easy to beat," Sunday mused. "I need a challenge!"

"What're you suggesting?" Friday asked, poking a carrot. "Sunday, this carrot is really weird."

"What do you mean?" he asked, coming close. "It looks fine to me."

"No, it's orange! Since when were carrots orange? All of the ones in the Middle House are deep purple!"

"It's natural for carrots to be orange."

"Oh, I didn't know they come in two colors," Friday said. "Neat. Though it looks a lot less appetizing…"

Wednesday bit her lip, clearly resisting the urge to eat all the greens and vegetables surrounding her. She was not usually interested in vegetables if other edibles were present, but food is food, and she wanted some. "Please don't talk about carrots or how appetizing they are," she pleaded.

Sunday took a last look at the greenhouse that had sheltered the competition, and then glanced down at the blue ribbon proudly pinned to his chest. "All right, everyone, back to the House!" he called once he was certain he had nothing else to do there. "I've put together a surprise for you!"

The other six groaned at the sound of this.

After several minutes of crawling through sewers to reach the manifestation of the House, due to not being able to use the far more sanitary side (too many mortals were milling about, and Sunday declared it 'unsafe'), they reached a low underground tunnel filled with some sort of sludge they all tried to avoid.

"This is so demeaning," Sunday moaned.

"Ah, well, at least your dress isn't ruined," Friday complained, gesturing to her skirt, which was drenched in stains no one wanted to know the origins of. "It's going to take forever to get this stuff out, even with magic!"

"Oh, no, dear," Sunday said, "I don't have a ruined dress… just my best white tux! Look at it! I have green stains all over it!"

"Don't forget that mysterious brown," Saturday added. She and Wednesday were somehow immaculate, probably something to do with the umbrella in her hand and a spell. "Who wears their best tux to the Secondary Realms anyway? I thought that was reserved for weddings."

"Yes, but none of us are getting married anytime soon," Sunday sniffed. That prompted several snickers from Tuesday, Thursday, and Monday, and exasperated looks from Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. "Anyway, I make exceptions for gardening events."

Then it was through the Front Door.

"Meddling again?" said the Lieutenant Keeper.

"Exceptions for gardening!" Sunday quipped.

"I was talking about your deputy, who makes exceptions for everything," the Keeper replied.

Saturday winced.

"What do you mean?" Sunday asked. "No, she doesn't."

"Oh, yes, because her Nintendo collection was definitely made in the forges of Grim Tuesday, as was her various anime cosplay outfits, her newest set of pen and quills, and her large collection of novels. Not to mention her Saturday night film flings- I mean, seriously! She's seen both Hobbit movies, the Hunger Games, and that ridiculous thing about the vampire and his blank slate girlfriend."

"Heh heh… moving on!" Saturday chuckled, a strange tone in her voice.

"You're getting things from the Realms instead of me?" Tuesday said, a hurt look on his face.

"You watched _Twilight_?" Wednesday asked incredulously.

"TREASON!" Thursday crowed.

"Moving ON!" Saturday repeated.

Then out the Door, and the seven Trustees scampered off to their respective demesnes.

"I think they'll like the surprise," Sunday said, handing the Reaper his tuxedo jacket, and frowned. There was usually a large wicker hamper awaiting his return from the Realms, where he could dump his laundry. "What happened to my laundry basket?"

"A missive was received just a little bit before you came up here," the Reaper answered. "The Upper House, which up until now has been generous enough to take care of your laundry along with its mistress's-"

Sunday snorted at 'generous.' "Yes, yes. What about them?"

"They've transferred your laundry services to the Lower House, making the processing and return of your clothing take twice as long."

Sunday scowled. "That woman!" he screeched, adding another word that was not entirely wholesome.

"Yes, sir," the Reaper agreed dutifully. "Shall I give her the message?"

* * *

"I have called you here for the first centennial House Gardening Competition," Sunday said. "Surprise! The winning demesne shall have its Trustee enjoy a tour of the Incomparable Gardens."

Wednesday looked disinterested, chewing on the corner of her handkerchief. Tuesday and Thursday stopped slouching and playing rock-paper-scissors under the table, and perked up. Friday leaned forward, Monday woke up and started paying attention, and Saturday's eyes took on a strange, hungry gleam.

Based on that reaction, Sunday decided Saturday would not win.

In fact, he'd rig it in Wednesday's favor, since she seemed the least maliciously inclined.

"So, what do we have to do to win?" Saturday asked. He noticed she had whipped out a notebook and was hastily writing in it, then paused with her pen poised, waiting for his words.

"All you have to do is breed a plant," Sunday answered. "Simple, hmm? I don't even care what kind- new, old, wacky, copied, whatever. I don't care. The prettiest plant will win, and I shall judge."

"Might as well declare the winner right now, then," Monday muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he relented.

"How much time do we have?" Tuesday asked.

"Three months. After all, time is money, my dear Grim."

Tuesday scowled. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

"Can the plant be aquatic?" Wednesday inquired.

"Sure. It can be any plant. I don't care. Oh, that does remind me. Thank you, Wednesday. The seeds for the plant must be obtained from your own demesne, NOT the Realms. No trading or bartering is allowed either."

Saturday and Tuesday's faces darkened. The last rule would hinder them more than anyone else, since the Far Reaches was basically just Nothing and rocks, and the Upper House was an uber-urbanized, gothic structure of towers and flats. It'd take them most of that time just to find seeds, much less breed them.

"And no magic," he added.

They looked ready to murder. Thus, being the wise Trustees that they were, the other five made quick excuses and hurried away. The House Gardening Competition had begun. The game was on.

* * *

Monday yawned placidly. "I like orchids."

"Nice," Sunday said. Monday's orchid had fine form and shape, and it looked quite healthy. However, its color, a glossy obsidian black, though nice, was rather unimpressive. "Um, why is it all black?"

"Oh, well, I was busy…" Monday began, pausing to stretch and yawn again.

_Yeah, right, _Sunday thought. _Busy sleeping, that is._

"…So I had Dusk breed it for me," Monday finished. "Black's his thing."

"Monday, I would give you a six out of ten, but since you didn't breed it yourself, that means you're disqualified." Sunday stopped to see if that garnered any reaction. "Um, don't you care?"

"Not really," Monday answered eyes half-lidded. "Winning's too much work, don't you think?"

* * *

"Where's yours, Tuesday?" Sunday asked, peering at the empty tray where his plant should have been. Even though the light in the Far Reaches was pretty poor and dim, he could still see enough to know that the plant wasn't there.

"The Far Reaches has no green," Tuesday said gruffly, "so I am in the process of simulating seeds using Nothing."

"Didn't I forbid magic?" Sunday said.

"This is different. I am employing House technology to speed up the evolutionary process," Tuesday replied.

"Okay, I'll let it slide- THIS time. Where is it?"

"I need a little more time," Tuesday pleaded. "Three months is a bit short. Three million years would have suited me far better."

"Then it wouldn't be a centennial competition, nimbus," Sunday retorted. "Show me what you've got so far."

Tuesday frowned, his lips almost stretching into a perfect upside-down u, and he scuttled away, muttering. He returned several minutes later, carrying a bowl. "This is the beginnings of my project," he said, dumping out the greenish liquid to reveal a swollen, pulpy mess that dimly resembled a stem, with some sort of alien petal arrangement. "It's not done," he added, "even though the Accelerator has definitely speeded up the process by far."

"I never would have guessed," Sunday replied, wrinkling his nose. Besides being downright hideous, the project _smelled, _a little too much like rancid meat.

"Well?" Tuesday asked. "What's my score?"

"It's not even a plant!" Sunday protested. "Though I suppose you have the beginnings. One out of ten, my dear Grim. At least you tried."

* * *

"Wednesday, these sea cucumbers are… um, an interesting choice."

"Thanks. They're pretty much one of the few things I could find," Wednesday said.

"What about the Border Sea Water Lilies?" Sunday said. "I thought you loved them."

Wednesday shrugged, pulling some of her hair out of her eyes. She wasn't the least bit fazed about floating on water, and the Third Key in her other hand was the reason. Sunday did not appreciate standing on a pathetic little raft while she walked on waves; it made him feel like she was insulting him somehow. If it wasn't for the fact that he had already decided she would win, he would have disqualified her for this injustice.

"Well, it's a very healthy specimen. I give you an eight out of ten. It would be a full, perfect score, except that sea cucumbers aren't the most beautiful plants around."

"Thanks." Wednesday curtsied, and Sunday noted with envy that she didn't sink at all as she did it, and when her long hair fell close to the surface of the water, the sea parted, as if it was a crime against the universe to so much as touch a single strand. Sunday told himself he wasn't jealous, but he admitted such an ability would be nice. He couldn't swim, after all. Although the Seventh Key allowed him to float as well if he morphed it into the appropriate form, it was both too time-consuming and annoying. Anyway, the sea didn't like him as much as it liked Wednesday; for some reason, every time he attempted it, waves would come out of nowhere and douse him.

"Well, I better go see the others'," Sunday said.

Wednesday nodded, bit her lip, and then suddenly lunged forward. Sunday dashed to the side, but he wasn't her target- the sea cucumber was. She stuffed the whole thing in her mouth. "Tastes horrible," she said, but kept chewing.

"I'll, um, send you the results later," Sunday added.

* * *

Thursday's was a Morning Glory.

"It's-"

"Dawn's favorite flower, isn't it?" Sunday interrupted. "House to Thursday! What is up? You have almost a stalkerish obsession with that woman."

"At least I don't spend my evenings staring at pictures of her I smuggled into my room," Thursday shot back. Sunday reddened. The only person who knew he kept a stash of photos of his love interest was the Reaper. Oh, he would pay for telling. He would. He would pay so dearly that even Grim Tuesday would shirk from the high price, so badly that even Saturday, cruel woman that she was, would pale at the punishment he had chosen. He would send such retribution to the Reaper that he would be unable to sit down for weeks, would-

"Lord Sunday? My score?"

Sunday snapped out of his plans for disciplining his Time. "Oh, right. Well…" Thursday's flower was actually the best he'd seen so far. It was a delicate shade of violet, with gorgeous petals and the most pleasant aroma of any Morning Glory Sunday had ever seen- except for the specimens he cultivated himself in the Gardens, of course. The Gardens Thursday must not ever enter, because who knew what sort of havoc the angry Day would rage in there.

"I give it a seven out of ten," Sunday said finally. "Congratulations."

Thursday, knowing full well Wednesday had gotten an eight, snarled and grabbed the tray he had laid the flower out on. Then he threw it. Sunday ducked, and the tray whistled over his head before striking the wall with such force that the tray lost its shape by the time it clattered to the ground, and the wall had a dent.

Thursday ran to the flower and picked it up with a gentleness that Sunday didn't think was possible after seeing how violently he'd thrown the tray. A petal had fallen. Thursday clutched it to his breast for a moment, as if it was some sort of relic he deeply cared about, turned, his eyes tinged a bit yellow. "You- you did this!"

Naturally, Sunday ran. It occurred to him that, throughout the entire competition, he was doing far too much running.

* * *

Friday's flower was a hydrangea.

"Five out of ten," Sunday said, barely looking at it.

"You barely looked at it!" Friday protested.

"I don't need to. It's clear you were experiencing when you attended to it."

Friday snorted. "I thought experiencing a gardener would help," she pouted.

"Not if you're enjoying a glass of Upper House vodka at the same time!" Sunday said. "Besides, experiencing counts as magic, so you're disqualified."

"Pooey."

* * *

Saturday didn't even have a flower.

"A ridiculous request, that I get the seed from the Upper House. We have no plants save the potted ones you sent me out of spite centuries ago," she said, "and I wasn't about to breed those."

"Why not?"

Saturday scowled. "Because either you have had the foresight to make them seedless, or this was a complete coincidence."

"So, then, what were you doing for three months?"

"Working. Unlike you," she shot back. "Though I did make this." She held up a small, intricate flower woven out of threads of copper, gold, and silver wire. Sunday squinted. Words were crawling along the surface of the object, which he realized was sorcerous. It took him a while to realize the words were some sort of poem about trampled flowers or something similar. The whole thing was very beautiful, and he could see Saturday put a lot of thought into it, even though she must have known it wouldn't have counted.

"I suppose it doesn't count," Saturday said, confirming his suspicions, "but you asked for a flower."

"Can I keep this?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Sunday pocketed it and nearly smiled at her, before he remembered she was the one who had transferred his laundry service.

* * *

"How did it go, Sire?" asked the Sower.

"Ah, it was fine," Sunday shrugged. "These idiots don't know a thing about gardening. I suppose I'll stick to mortal competitions, as easy and overrated as they may be."

"But that won't stop you from having the next competition, will it?"

Sunday smirked. "Not at all." Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Bring the Reaper in here, will you? I need to have a little chat with him."


	6. Airports

**A/N: They're back! Prompts are appreciated, and I'll be sure to take them. As I said in the previous chapter, any and all prompts are welcome. I didn't really like how this one turned out, but I did like the security scene.**

* * *

**AIRPORTS**

"Remind me why we are using mortal transportation instead of Seven Dials," Monday hissed, twisting this way and that as if uncomfortable by the flow of people walking past.

"Friday wanted to experience this form of aviatory conveyance," Saturday retorted absentmindedly. They were standing in the lobby of a rather large airport on a world either so similar to Earth it was creepy or Earth itself; of course, there were numerous versions of Earth, each in their own respective parallel universe, but-

"If that's why we're here, it's pointless," Monday said, interrupting Saturday's train of thought. She'd been musing about parallel verses and how the Virtue of the House affected them, how they were contained inside their "universe bubbles," as the Denizens in the Upper House called them, and the space these bubbles were located in.

"I was thinking," she protested.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize," Monday sniffed.

"And why not?"

"Because you don't do it often."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Of course I think!"

"About things other than how to best Lord Sunday?"

"Naturally."

"And things other than work?"

"Er, every once in a while."

"See? That's all you think about." Monday grinned smugly. "As I was saying, Friday experiences mortals all the time with her Mirror, sucking their souls- or something similar, I'm not the expert on human composition. So I'm sure she's experienced tones of airplane rides."

"She wants to do it herself, personally," Saturday replied. "And last I checked, humans are composed of mind, body, and soul."

"What are we made of?"

"The same thing, I'm pretty sure."

"But what's a Denizen's soul look like?"

"What does anything's soul look like?" Saturday retorted, picking up her suitcase and moving forward, now that the line had budged all of three feet for check-in. Carrying the suitcase was Wednesday's idea, to make them more "blendable," but Saturday thought it was some sort of revenge, making her carry something around like some sort of lower being. Saturday never carried anything but the Key and an umbrella, no matter what the weather. She was quite fond of umbrellas. It was much like Friday's ridiculous obsession with strange and goofy hats.

Sunday tapped her on the shoulder, making her jump. "First class line is over here," he said, pointing to a near-clear portion of the airport. The only people at the counter were the rest of the Morrow Days. "You do know we have first-class tickets, right?"

"Right," Saturday mumbled, picking up the suitcase again and following him.

After that, she had to get through security. She insisted Sunday go first, mainly because the mortal officers standing on either side of the strange arches-with-no-doors looked slightly menacing. She had no doubt she would easily subdue them if it came to a fight, but they still gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Sunday had pushed her to the front, saying, "Ladies first, m'dear. Besides, I thought you were the oldest. Elder first, as Mother used to say when my brothers and I lined up for our turn to play with Her things."

Saturday sniffed disdainfully in reply and walked up to the security officers. "Take off your shoes, belt, anything metal, such as earrings, etc, etc, etc," he went on in a very boring, monotonous tone.

"My shoes too? These are the finest Immaterial Starshine money can-"

"Shoes too, lady," he said. Then he muttered something to his partner that sounded similar to, "Wallstreet idiots."

Saturday had no idea why someone would build a street on a wall and give it such an unoriginal name. Then again, it was also the name of that hub for mortal stockbrokers and investors and whatnot, but she didn't see the connection between the finest Immaterial Starshine boots money could buy and rich corrupt bankers. Saturday took her shoes off with a glare, noting that the heels were pointy enough to kill someone if they irritated her much more. Then she placed them in a drab brown tray, along with her umbrella, and, barefoot, walked through the arch.

It beeped.

"One moment, ma'am, we're going to have to scan you," the officer said. "Turn your pockets inside out."

Saturday complied.

The Key fell out.

"The bit of that antique's metal, ma'am," he said.

"My apologies," Saturday blushed, placing the Key in another tray and pushing it through the weird portal all the trays went through. Then she tried again.

It beeped.

"Now what?" she said crossly. She thought she heard the others laughing behind her.

"Your hair accessory."

"Well, you could have pointed it out the first time!" she snapped.

More beeping.

Saturday removed her jacket and turned every pocket inside-out, but it wouldn't stop beeping. By now, she figured it had something to do with her being a Denizen of the House and carrying its Virtue, but she wasn't about to tell the security officer that. He eventually waved her through after she made some excuse about a metal screw in her back she had installed during an operation. She had read in some record mortals did that, to fix some ailment in which the spine curved.

The officer scowled, cross. "You should have said something."

Of course, the machine kept beeping as the other six attempted to cross, so Saturday fibbed and said they ALL had the operation. "It's a genetic thing, passed down," she laughed nervously.

The officer's scowl deepened, and he waved them off. "I don't think they're carrying bombs or anything. They seem a bit too stupid to be terrorists. I mean, the guy with green hair was going on about how he rules the Universe," he said to his partner, who laughed.

Boarding the plane was a near-catastrophe, as Friday had lost her ticket. Fortunately, a little subvert and clandestine sorcery conducted in the Women's Bathroom soon located the missing piece of paper and had them all on board in record time.

It was then that Saturday noticed the problem with her seat. "I'm next to Sunday!" she cried. "That's not possible! I refuse to sit next to that swine for eight hours!"

Sunday grinned. "Something wrong with me, Lady Saturday?"

Thursday frowned, and Tuesday groaned. "Get a room already, lovebirds!" he snapped. He was a bit cross that they had rushed him past the airport stores without letting him "quietly expand his collection."

Thursday and Friday laughed.

"Oh, shut it!" Sunday retorted. "Why don't you and Dawn announce the date of your wedding already!"

Thursday clammed up, and Friday laughed even harder.

Then a flight attendant came and told them to please "settle down and be seated."

So Saturday sat in a grump, right next to Sunday.

Her ears popped once the plane started ascending, and she was beginning to feel queasy. _You have got to be kidding me. I'm a Denizen. Not only am I sitting next to Lord Sunday for hours, I have airplane sickness!_

Sunday wasn't about to let the opportunity be wasted. As Saturday got out some paperwork that she deemed must be done, he said, "So, about that room-"

Saturday hissed some of the Architect's words, which made the other passengers wince at their sudden toothaches. But Sunday was now unable to talk, rendered mute for the rest of the flight.

It was possibly the best eight hours of her life, Saturday decided.


	7. Wal-Mart

A/N: And now for tackling consumerism.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Wal-Mart. Or KttK. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fanfiction.

**Wal-Mart**

Grim Tuesday was one who enjoyed expanding his collection. In his early centuries, it consisted of fine arts. Then, because he wanted more items, and because they were easy to obtain and small enough to smuggle, he added stamps. Several thousand years later, his collection was made up of random light bulbs, mummies, motley pieces of glass, shrapnel, clothing, animal pelts, taxidermies, stamps, and, of course, the fine arts.

By now, it was anything mortals had so much as touched, including moonrocks that some American had stepped on, with an emphasis on great works of art. Quality pieces were now difficult to obtain, however. Either mortals had lost their creativity because their brains were slowly rotting- which was the theory of the majority of the Morrow Days- or they had switched gears. They had abandoned the traditional art styles the Grim so admired, pursuing some sort of painted squiggly lines with random splotches. The mortals called this "abstract." Tuesday called it "What the heck is it supposed to be" and, every now and then, "It looks like it came out of Friday's brain"- which is, of course, a scary place.

Tuesday reclined in his plush leather chair, an authentic piece previously owned by a poor mortal who woke up one morning to find his furniture replaced with a note commending him for donating his belongings to such a grand and noble cause as being the possession of a Denizen. Tuesday lazily pressed a button on his new remote, and the TV flickered on. The TV was the most recent addition to his collection- he had acquired it so that his XBOX would not be completely useless- and with Saturday's permission, he had used some trans-dimensional technology to get the best DVR and channel package possible, and his own money-savvy sorcery to procure this for the cheapest price known to mankind.

"How ridiculous," he sneered at the screen, which was shamefully displaying some weirdly-colored aliens that spoke gibberish, known to mortal infants as the Teletubbies. Of course, Tuesday did not know this; nor did he know the program's target audience. He took it for granted that this was what all mortals spent their time doing, which would have totally explained decline in the influx of good, new art.

Several mind-rotting minutes later, Tuesday couldn't stand it any longer, but the Teletubbies had him transfixed in such a way that turning them off, though sorely wished for, was unthinkable. Luckily for him, at that moment the commericals snapped on, saving him from his reverie.

"Everything you could ever want, now at Wal-Mart!" chorused happy, dancing blue-clad employees that looked more brainwashed than Friday's hoard of ex-boyfriends, now known as her Noon and Dusk.

"Everything... I could want?" he murmured, leaning closer. The screen flashed different goods and their supposed bargain prices in coin of the Realms. Tuesday usually got his collection's pieces for free, but such a large place, with such diverse stock... for so cheap! It was almost a dream, much like how Saturday felt about the movie "Singing in the Rain."

Tuesday yanked a phone out of midair and barked into the mouthpiece, "Get me the Bureau of Inter-Realm Interference and Travel. NOW!"

* * *

"Is there a reason Lord Sunday is not joining us?" Tuesday asked.

"He's here," Friday said.

"Where?"

"Take a guess," Saturday replied. "It's not like he has only one hobby that's all he can think about."

Tuesday shrugged, surveying a tent kit. "I could get this," he said.

"What do you need a tent for?" Friday asked.

"I will dissect it and copy it in my Forges," Tuesday answered. "And I might go camping."

"And where, pray tell?" Saturday inquired in a tone that said, "The camping idea is stupid, and you and I both know it."

"Well, it's rainproof, and you did say, 'Visit when you like, but I'm not letting you spend the night in my tower.' It's been a while since I paid you a social call." Tuesday flashed a smile. There was a very good reason neither he nor his superior visited each other often, which may or may not have anything to do with several salesmen Saturday sent down to the Reaches centuries ago.

"I gave the go-ahead for this trip," Saturday growled. "It'd be quite rude to repay me by pitching an unwanted tent in my demesne."

"Then I'll just go camp somewhere else," he sniffed, "and I won't give you any of my s'mores!"

"Oh, no, I'm DEVASTATED," she replied mockingly, and stuck her tongue out.

"MY GOSH!" Friday exclaimed, startling Saturday and Tuesday as they realized she was no longer next to them but several aisles farther down.

"What?" asked Tuesday, rushing over.

"No wonder these clothes are so cheap- they're hideous!" Friday complained, holding up a pair of khaki slacks. "Not to mention, this material is clearly sub-par."

"Naturally. It is mortal made, after all," Saturday said. "This is a giant waste of time. May we leave now?" Tuesday could tell she was starting to regret her decision to allow the trip.

"Er, go get an umbrella. I'll pay for it," he said, knowing there were only two great loves in Saturday's life, umbrellas and Lord Sunday- whether she'd admit the latter or not- and that appealing to one of these was the only way to appease her.

Saturday gave a little sniff of disdain, pivoted, and stalked off.

"You know they're in the other direction, right?" Friday called.

Saturday scowled, turned around, and marched off in the opposite direction, looking ready to strangle someone.

* * *

Somehow, Tuesday found himself in the art section, holding a pair of crayola washable markers. He had all sort of markers to use back in the House, but these were so bright and cheerful in hue, reminding him of childhood he never had.

"I want them," he said.

Thursday poked his head out of the nearby sports section. "What?"

"I want these markers," Tuesday said, brandishing them to show Thursday.

"Whatever. Hey, could you do me a favor and get me a punching bag?"

"I'll just make you one. These mortal ones aren't durable enough. You'd go through one far too quickly."

"Actually, er, I went through five already," Thursday admitted with a sheepish grin. "Um, I was trying them out, and-"

"Enough," growled Tuesday. "Pretend you had nothing to do with it. I am not going to pay for broken merchandise."

"But- the cameras-"

"Simple sorcery will suffice to cover up your... poor judgement," Tuesday answered.

"Okay, then. I had another question."

"Shoot."

"What kind of gift do you think one of my Times would like?"

"Just get her a ring already and shut up about it!" Tuesday screamed. "Geez. And I thought Saturday and the Piper was an obnoxious couple. Thank the Architect they broke up."

"I was going to get my Dusk a thank-you," Thursday said coldly, "since his actions have made the difference between victory and defeat for this current Great Campaign."

"What's wrong with giving him a medal?" Tuesday asked.

* * *

Saturday was severely disgusted with the umbrella selection. She usually only acquired blue or black umbrellas, but she made exceptions for the classic red and yellow. The store only carried the ugliest, ghastly shade of green possible, however, and Saturday had vowed to never ever wear or hold anything that looked akin to throw-up.

Though she had broken that self-imposed rule before, when she had to save Lord Sunday from unpleasant injury at the hands of Nithlings that looked like garden gnomes. Naturally, the irony did not escape either of them, and she did not let it die down.

Thus, she wandered away from the barf-colored umbrellas and wandered around, bored out of her mind. She found Monday bouncing on an inflatable with a bunch of children, flipping and somersaulting about. The scene was slightly embarrassing, and Saturday had no inclination to get involved, so she strode right past.

Wednesday came rushing up. "Look! A grow-your-own-sea monkeys kit!"

Saturday took the box into her hands, looked it over, and pointed to a part of the label. "'Ages eight to twelve'? Wednesday, this is for children!"

"But they're sea monkeys!" Wednesday whined. "They're so cute!"

"You don't even know what sea monkeys are," Saturday protested.

"Well, no," Wednesday admitted, "but the picture on the box is cutesy, and they have the word 'sea' in their name, so..."

"But that doesn't mean they'll do well in the Border Sea," Saturday sighed. "Remember the time you bought a goldfish?"

"That's different. It didn't even make it; I dropped it in the Front Door," Wednesday said. "Saturday, I really want these! How come I can't have sea monkeys, but you can have the latest novels and manga?"

"They're inanimate, and not children's toys," Saturday replied, and winced at a crackle over the loudspeaker.

"Attention, mortals!"

Saturday groaned.

"This Wal-Mart has too many tempting additions to my collection," Tuesday's gruff, through-the-speaker voice continued, "and I could not resist. Please empty your shopping carts and slowly exit the building- I have bought everything in the store."

* * *

It was well-known that the Lieutenant Keeper did not approve of the Days' constant forays into the Realms. His disapproval had only deepened when a goldfish in a bowl had struck him on the back of his head, and he was certain Wednesday was responsible. The Keeper had received a bruise, but the poor fish was not as fortunate.

He shook his head at Monday, who was much more energetic than usual, with a slight spring in his step. That wouldn't last long. Wednesday was clutching a box of sea monkeys with one hand and batting away Saturday with the other. They were arguing- nothing new there- over "how demeaning it is for such a being to play with tykes' distractions." Thursday and Friday were close behind, trying to decide what type of swimming pool they'd put in a down payment for, and Sunday grinned smugly while holding two small, potted orchids.

The Keeper's jaw dropped when he saw Tuesday dragging along a sack with an interior clearly larger than the outside, possibly the size of a small warehouse, and it was STILL overfilled. Every now and then, something would drop out, and the Day would nearly capsize the whole thing leaning over to catch the fallen object.

"Did you buy the entire store?" the Keeper asked incredulously.

"Yup!" Tuesday answered cheerfully.

"Shopaholic," he murmured, hoping Tuesday did not hear.


End file.
